


Cupid was an angel too

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, F/M, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a couple of weeks after 7x17: The Born-Again Identity. Meg starts receiving what appear to be love letters.  In a manner of speaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid was an angel too

The letters come unpostmarked, settling on the floor or bed or dashboard like they've just touched down from another plane of existence.  For all she knows, they have.

She doesn't normally pay attention to paper.  It's a mind numbingly human thing, this obsession with documentation, all typed up and color coded and filed in triplicate.  She almost throws the first one away, dismissing it the same way she does parking tickets, homemade flyers for babysitting services, and wanted posters with her face on them.  

Well, one of her faces.

It's a lengthy and tangent-ridden treatise on the life cycle of _Rubus Strigosus_ which, thanks to those five minutes of her after-life she'll never get back, she now knows is a raspberry plant.  Instead of a signature, there's a peace sign drawn in crayon.  Raspberry scented crayon.

That's when she remembers why she stopped paying attention to the shit humans write.  

More often than not it's useless, even the lore books Singer hoarded like they were gold - she's been around long enough to know the most powerful knowledge can never reduced to a few paltry words on sheets of  paper.  She chucks the letter and doesn't think about it again.  For days afterward she swears she smells raspberries every time she turns to look over her shoulder.

The second one she doesn't even think of throwing out.  Different city, different (temporary) body; same handwriting.  Same weird-o nature obsession.  She hasn't stayed alive this long by ignoring weird coincidences.  

It falls on the dash of the car just as she's pulling out into traffic. She slams on the brake and whips around to check the rest of the car, knife in hand.  There's no one there, nothing but more phantom raspberries.

This one is about honey.  It's slightly crumpled, and...sticky?  She wipes her hands on the leather of the passenger seat - not like it's her car, anyway.  Not as long as the first one, but just as weird.  

 

> _\- duration of the waggle portion of the routine is directly proportional to the distance from the hive to the resources. If only human methods of communication were so direct, all pertinent information delivered in one flawlessly executed dance._
> 
> _I would dance with you again, if you hadn't told me that my touch made you want to dive into a pool of holy water and then voluntarily re-condemn yourself to hell. I can still taste the raspberries._  

 

When had she said - ?  Shit.  Castiel.

She thunks back against the headrest so hard she feels the brain rattle around a bit.  Not that it matters all that much to her, but she hasn't been blonde for a few years now and she wants to keep this body for just a few more days before she sends it on to the big meatsuit salvage yard in the sky.

They'd been walking along the side of the road, looking for another car to jack.  Or rather, he'd been wandering around sniffing the grass and communing with nature and she'd been looking for a car to jack and then tell him that some nice young man had lent it to her out of the goodness of his heart.

She'd been muttering under her breath about roughing it, being in hiding and useless angels in need of babysitting.  Castiel had stopped dead a step ahead of her, turned on his heel and brushed one of his knuckles under her chin.  Like she was a five year old who dropped her ice cream.  It felt like electricity.

"Touch me again and I'll disembowel your feathery little non-violent ass."  She may have gone on for a bit after that.

It hadn't been one of her better days.  Castiel's sunshine and flowers shit was vaguely amusing on occasion, but mostly it was a giant pain in her ass.  Castiel wouldn't need a babysitter if he could just get his shit together.  Then again, if Castiel could get his shit together then he wouldn't need her, and there went all her leverage.

That was back when Castiel had actually accepted her presence.  Before he bugged off on his own.

That the letters are from Castiel explains some of the what-the-hell, but not the why.  She puts the car back in drive.  She's gonna need some fresh non-demonic human blood.  Not much, just enough to send a little something back to her super special feathered friend.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> So I recently started writing again, and as a result I keep finding things in the vast maze that is my discarded fic stash. I have no idea. I found this and was amused by it, so decided to post. 
> 
> Also, I apparently once wrote a fic where Sam, Dean and Cas are condiments in (I think?) Chuck's fridge. I can't find the actual fic though, just a few of my notes and it's _killing_ me. I can't remember if I posted it anywhere either. *Goes back to rifling through varies folders*


End file.
